Leaves of Teldrassil
by Gilkanese
Summary: She was ready to leave. In her blood, her soul, a yearning for adventure stirred, quite unlike what most of her race felt. She wanted to see the world, not just her people's homeland in Northern Kalimdor, but all the way to the deep jungles of Stranglethorn and beyond. Her family, of course, disapproved.
1. Chapter 1

A pair of amber eyes shined in the foliage, a lone beacon in Teldrassil's night. The elf they belonged to grinned, a savage, feral grin. Her quarry stood just a few yards ahead, blissfully unaware of the danger at his back. Still grinning, the elf drew a knife, a cruel-looking, ridged thing, already bathed in red. With hardly a rustle, the she-elf advanced. The amber glow disappeared.

Moments later, they once more shined through the undergrowth, mere feet from the other elf now. The she-elf could hear the others breathing, and see the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest. She considered him for a second, idly twirling the knife. A second more, and she was moving forward, knife ready. With a cry, she leapt. "For Elune!" She shouted as she latched onto the other elf's back. He stumbled forward, knocked off-balance by the sudden weight on his back. As her knife began a trail of red across his throat, her legs snaked in between his and she began a steady outward pressure, forcing the larger male to his knees. As his knees touched the ground, she disentangled her legs and gracefully rolled back and away from him.

She picked herself up from the ground and surveyed her work, pleased. But instead of seeing the other elf face down in the dirt, dead or soon to be, she saw he was sitting up and laughing, a rich, booming sound. He wiped the red line across his throat off as a smile spread across his face. He sniffed it, and a merry glint appeared in his eyes. "Potion. An ironic touch, Syralin." He chuckled as he wiped it off on the nearby grass.

The she-elf, Syralin, bowed, a matching smile on her face. "Thank you, Sinedar," she replied, "I thought you might appreciate it." She approached the fallen elf and offered him her hand, a small, blue-tinged thing. Sinedar's hand, a stark contrast to Syralin's due in no small part to its massive size and rough, purplish skin, reached out and enveloped her's in a firm grip which he used to pull himself to his feet. Sinedar grimaced as he regained his footing, rubbing his grass-dyed knees. He let out a mock sigh and shook his head.

"Some days I feel like I'm getting to old for this. Nice touch with the legs, by the way. Ingenuity will keep you ahead of the rest." After a second's thought, he added, "And leave the Horde without knees." Sinedar smiled at his pupil, in part to let her know he was joking, and because he was proud. Syralin had come a long way since that day her mother, an old friend of Sinedar's named Kairelia, had brought her to him. He remembered the considerably smaller night elf that had once stood before him, stubborn and inexperienced. _Well_, he thought wryly, _only one of those have changed. And it's not the stubbornness. _

Syralin blushed at Sinedar's praise of her skills, which he quickly noticed. Never one to let a student grow arrogant, he quickly added, "That 'For Elune' business should stop, though. You'll never have the drop on anyone if you announce yourself to everyone in Northern Kalimdor."

At his words, Syralin crossed her arms and gave her mentor a pained look. "I surprised you, even with the shouting. And if I'm fast enough to surprise an elf, I can surprise anything."

"You are fast," Sinedar conceded, "but I cannot claim to be one of Azeroth's best. In every combat situation you find yourself in, you must act as if you are facing a master. Underestimating an opponent is the last thing you'll do."

Syralin was somewhat mollified by Sinedar's explanation, but her pride could not let her soften completely. "You've seen me with a sword." She pointed out as her fingers traced a path along her knife. She continued, "I can last long enough to find a way to escape." She smiled confidently.

Sinedar sighed and shook his head. "And what if your opponent has an axe? A mace? Then what?" He questioned. "You can't parry weapons like that. And you can only dodge for so long." As Syralin opened her mouth to retort, Sinedar sharply raised his hand to silence her. "This is something that you will eventually realize the folly of and fix. You've passed my test, and your work with me is finished. I have turned you from a defenseless girl into an able fighter, capable of holding your own against even the Sentinels. And," he grinned at his student, "I believe that is cause for celebration."


	2. Chapter 2

Syralin ignored the excited babble of conversation around her, preferring to absent mindedly play with her food, her only company her thoughts. Her heart beat was rapid, almost as if she was in the middle of a sparring match, and her veins flowed with excited energy. After years of hard work and an uncountable number of bruises, she was done. Her mind was sharp, trained by Teldrassil's best, and her body was strong from days spent learning to fight with Sinedar. If she was a sentinel in the Darnassian military, she would have been deployed already.

She almost wish she _could_ be deployed. She was ready to leave. In her blood, her soul, a yearning for adventure stirred, quite unlike what most of her race felt. She wanted to see the world, not just her people's homeland in Northern Kalimdor, but all the way to the deep jungles of Stranglethorn and beyond. She wanted to live life minute by minute, the exact opposite of the slow pace of life on Teldrassil. She wanted to survive on her wits and strength, alone but for a few trusted allies. She wanted to be able to walk into the meanest, seediest pub this side of the Sundered Sea and put fear into the heart of the hardiest sailor there.

Her family, of course, disapproved. Being old elven blood, with heavy ties to their ancestral lands in Darkshore and Ashenvale, they had no yearning for adventure like Syralin's. For centuries, those of Irathanil blood would leave their home for nearby cities to study and learn to fight. Then, they would either return home, become tradesmen in the region, or join the military. The Irathanils counted themselves lucky that none of their lineage had been stricken by wanderlust. Until now, of course. And that was the problem Syralin faced as she mulled over her vegetables. According to Irathanil tradition, the women of the household either carried on the family's military tradition in the Sentinels or returned home to help around the estate. Eventually, no matter what they chose, they were expected to return home with a satisfactory suitor and begin their own branch of the family.

This sounded wonderful to Syralin, if it was at a later date, of course. She feared that if she did not live her life of adventure while she could, the rest of her life would be one of regret. She wondered how her mother, whose personality was much like her own, had been able to transition so well and so soon. As far as the elven concept of time went, her time as a ranger had been limited. How had her thirst for adventure been quenched so easily? Syralin looked over to her mother as this question crossed her mind, as if she might glean some information just from the sight of her.

She was disappointed in this regard, as she only saw her mother doing what she always did. She was busy, of course, being the perfect hostess. Polite, courteous, and talkative enough to keep the conversation going, but not enough to be overbearing. Syralin wondered again how she did it; after all, Karelia had once been a ranger. Though not quite as adventurous as Syralin would prefer, the ranger life did have some similarities to the one she wanted. And yet here an ex-ranger stood, resplendent in a traditional night elf dress, and surrounded by throngs of laughing elves.

Lost in her thoughts as she was, Syralin did not notice as her mother slipped into the empty seat beside her. "Syralin," Kairelia began gently, "Why aren't you enjoying the party? It's for you, after all."

Syralin shrugged and mumbled, "I am. Thank you for this, mother. I am grateful." To prove this point, she stabbed a mouthful with her fork and crammed it into her mouth.

Kairelia gave her daughter a bemused look. "I know you better than that, Syralin. Something is bothering you. Tell me what's wrong." She smiled encouragingly, attempting to coax some sort of reply out of her daughter.

Syralin finished chewing the last morsel in her mouth and swallowed hard. To say she was anxious about admitting her concerns to her mother was an understatement. Finally, she leaned back in her chair and admitted, "I just don't think I'm ready for the real world, to become a Sentinel or... whatever else I may decide. I feel like my decision has already been made for me, and I don't think it's the one I want." Her eyebrows furrowed and her mouth twisted in a frown. "I'm just so... confused." She buried her face in her hands, distraught.

Her mother regarded her with sadness, but made no move to comfort her. She knew what her daughter was going through, but she also knew that she could not bend. Tradition was tradition, no matter how much you fought it, which Kairelia knew better than most. She had been a rebel at one point too, refusing to listen to her elders. But she had come to accept that when your elders were hundreds, possibly thousands of years older than you, they truly did know best.

They sat there in silence for a minute before Kairelia finally broke the quiet. She spoke, quietly and slowly. "It is often best to listen to those who care for you, and your family in particular. They draw their wisdom from experiences far beyond what you have yet seen. They are better equipped to make important choices. When you are older you will better understand, and be thankful." She paused for a moment, watching Syralin. "It is the way of life."

Syralin looked at her mother, horrified. She abruptly stood and ran, ignoring Kairelia's shouted plea for her to come back. She ran, past the gates leading into the building, past the lax guards forming the town's perimeter, and past the trees making up the forest's edge. She only began to slow as the sounds of the party began to fade, coming to a complete stop as it died out completely, replaced by the sounds of nature. She rested momentarily to collect her breath and thoughts. After a few seconds of panting and frenzied thinking, she lashed out at the nearest tree with a frustrated cry, debarking the point of impact and bruising her knuckles. After a second to regret her rash decision to pick a fight with nature, her knuckles began to throb terribly. She rubbed the afflicted area ruefully. Sinedar had taught her better than to let her rage out in such a violent manner. If he had seen her childish outburst, Syralin was sure he would have been disappointed. _I'm just a walking failure today_, she thought despairingly.

She quickly shook off the moment of self-pity though, and took a few deep breaths to calm herself, using a technique she had learned years ago. Now was not the time to lose her head. She considered for a few moments as she nursed her hand, and then continued moving at a more relaxed pace. She needed to think, and she knew just the place. Though she was long past the age of play forts and secret hideouts, she remembered the path to one particular location. It was always useful, she figured, to have a place to get away from it all and have some peace.

Syralin carefully picked her way through the trees, brushing aside the cleverly placed branches and leaves meant to hide the path. Her mouth twitched upwards in a smile as memories of her childhood came flooding back. It suddenly occurred to her that she had once said that she couldn't wait to grow up. As she picked up the final branch obscuring the way to her secret place, she quietly chuckled and wondered what little Syralin would say now. Adulthood was no walk in the park with all this pressure and so many decisions.

Her eyes trailed over the now revealed glade, a smile slowly forming on her face. She sucked in the night air greedily, appreciating the earthy smell of the place. When she was younger, they had simply called this place "the glade", and the reasons were obvious. It was a small clearing, watched over by a thick wall of trees, and rich with flora, undisturbed by elven or animal activity. And at the center stood a moon well, the source of the glade's unusual growth and pristine nature. Syralin moved towards it now, as if drawn by an otherworldly force. She slipped off her shoes as she walked; she had always thought better with her feet in the water.

Syralin sighed contentedly as her feet submerged into the clear, cool water. The magic-infused liquid had a rejuvenating, calming effect, and she was soon lying on her back, resting. Her eyes were closed, and her face was peaceful as her worries slowly slipped away. This was as close as it got to paradise as far as she was concerned, and it seemed the wildlife agreed, as something dropped into the water a few feet from her. She giggled as the waves from its fall lapped at her legs. She was sorely tempted to open her eyes to see what now shared the well with her, but she was so comfortable, and opening her eyes would ruin the serenity of the moment.

Syralin did, however, open her eyes when the thing grabbed both her feet. With a scream, she simultaneously kicked out her legs to break the grip and rolled. Her efforts were rewarded with a surprise fall, and then wetness as she landed in the shallow water. However, the grip did disappear, replaced instead by raucous laughter. Confused, Syralin pushed aside her soaked purple hair to get a better look at her attacker. She was greeted by the sight of an elf laughing in the center of the well.


	3. Chapter 3

"You should have seen your face, Syralin!" The elf cackled. He began to imitate her terrified expression, but burst into a fit of laughter after a few seconds, unable to control his mirth.

Syralin was on him in a second, raining stinging smacks across his torso. "Why do you do that, Vorathos?" She asked, indignant. "You know I scare easy." Her cheeks were flushed with annoyance.

Vorathos grinned and jumped back, out of range of Syralin's hands. "I believe you just answered your own question, friend." He began to laugh again, much to Syralin's chagrin.

Realizing that she was defeated, she sighed and sat back down at the edge of the well. "Most people would just quietly join someone resting by a well, not attempt to scare them to death." Syralin's face betrayed her stern words, though. A fond smile was visible on her face as she looked at the elf, a childhood friend of hers. The playful banter between them was a long-established tradition from their younger days, and neither took offense. That wasn't to say she appreciated the midnight swim, of course. She gently wrung out her long, soaked hair, a byproduct of the experience of swimming in a moon well. Although she was annoyed, she did not fault Vorathos; she had laughed when Vorathos played similar pranks on other children. She smiled inwardly. Vorathos was karma incarnate. As if summoned by her thoughts, he joined her at the edge of the well and took a seat. He sat quietly as they both peered into the tranquil waters, Syralin pondering her situation and Vorathos pondering her.

Vorathos had known Syralin for many years, giving him the ability to generally tell her emotional state, and he sensed now that she was troubled. He experienced a momentary twinge of embarrassment as he realized that he had rudely interrupted her thoughts with his prank. Wanting to find a way to make up for his faux pas, he asked, "Is something wrong, Syralin? You're unusually quiet."

Syralin laid back, enjoying the feel of the cool stone on her back. "You could say that." She managed after a few seconds.

Vorathos raised one bushy eyebrow. "And what would _you_ say?" He coaxed.

Syralin shifted uncomfortably as her mind went back to the party. "I had a bit of a falling out with my mother. She, and the rest of my family, wants me to join the Sentinels. I just want to leave and live life for myself." She shrugged. "I thought my mother would be on my side, but..."

Vorathos gave Syralin a sympathetic look. He thought for a second, choosing his words carefully, before he finally spoke. "I think you need to decide what you want to do without their input. You'll be happier for it, and by extension, they will. If you're not happy, they'll know it quickly." His lips twitched in an amused smile.

Syralin smiled as well. Vorathos had always managed to cheer her up, and tonight was no exception. "I suppose. What would you suggest I do, though? Short of running away, I have no idea how I could escape the fate they've decided for me."

Vorathos looked to the pool for answers, thoughtful. He had definitely overlooked that part of it, but there had to be an answer somewhere. As he sat there, idly kicking at the water, it came to him. He turned to Syralin, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. "Have you ever heard the saying 'it's easier to ask for forgiveness than permission'?"

Syralin looked at him skeptically. "Of course, but what does that have to do with my situation?" A moment after she asked, she caught on to what Vorathos was getting at. "Oh!..."

Still grinning, Vorathos nodded. "You should run away. If words and reason won't work, only action will. They may be angry for a while, but they'll come to terms with it eventually. Yes, you'll go without their support, but that's a small price to pay to be able to make your own decision, wouldn't you agree? And you'll still have the rest of the village behind you. You're not a Dolanaar native, but you're still family." As he spoke, Syralin jumped up and began to pace excitedly, thinking rapidly as she mentally worked out the logistics of the proposed escapade.

"Yes! Yes, of course! I could pick up my things and leave on the boat to Auberdine. All I would need is some money, some clothes and armor, and of course my weapons. I could be in and out, dozens of leagues away and across the strait before they would realize I was gone." She radiated with newfound energy. "Now the only issue is when I could leave, I suppose."

"The boat that travels to Auberdine and down the Darkshore coast is in port at Rut'Theran right now, actually. You could be gone by the end of tonight." Vorathos chimed in. He inwardly breathed a sigh of relief, glad that he had been able to help his friend.

Syralin stopped her pacing suddenly, struck by doubt. "Tonight? So soon?" She seemed pained, as if the decision threatened to tear her apart. "I want to leave, but tonight? It just seems so... sudden." She sat down heavily.

Vorathos could empathize with how she was feeling, but he knew that she could not wait. He kneeled beside her, placing a comforting hand on hers. "I know, I know. But the ship will not return for a few weeks. The voyage is not short, what with the threat of reefs and ambush by Horde ships. By the time it returns, it is likely you'll have been pressed into the Sentinels. And you know the shame of desertion, so leaving then isn't an option." He shook his head. "No, now is the time to leave if you ever mean to."

Syralin considered his words silently. Though it did not make her happy, she had to admit that he was right. Her parents were persistent, and would see to it that she was quickly bound to the Sentinels now that her training was complete. It truly was now or never, she realized. She breathed in deeply. "Very well. When does the ship leave?"

Vorathos looked to the sky, briefly scanning the stars above. "By my estimates, three hours. They picked up the supplies for the trip yesterday and the day before, and now it's only a matter of loading them and whatever passengers they may have." He gave Syralin a stern look. "You have time, but don't even think about telling anyone the plan. I doubt many would alert your parents, but it isn't worth the risk. Go and get your things and meet me at the dock. I'll arrange your transportation ."

Syralin inclined her head gratefully and bowed. "Thank you for this, Vorathos. I'll be there." Vorathos returned the gesture before turning and leaving, headed in the direction of the elven capital. After a second of silent prayer to Elune, Syralin followed suit. Soon, she would be living the life her family would deny her. _And to think_, she thought, _that I almost gave up hope. Elune has not abandoned me._

Syralin smiled beatifically. The future shone as bright as the blessed moon tonight.


	4. Chapter 4

Syralin watched quietly as the last member of her family entered the inn to turn in for the night. She looked up to the sky and allowed herself a small smile when she saw the time; it was still a few hours from dawn. "Looks like someone went to bed early." Syralin muttered. She shifted her position to relieve the soreness in her thighs, eliciting a wince. She rubbed her legs to relieve the pain and laughed ruefully, remembering one of Sinedar's lessons. She knew better than to sit like that while waiting.

She frowned as her thoughts went to Sinedar, and then to her friends and family. It dawned on her that she would not see them for a long while, and possibly not even for decades. Syralin had realized this earlier when she and Vorathos were planning her escape, but it had only really hit her now. In typical childhood naiveté, she had assumed that those close to her would be around forever, an obviously false sentiment, but one she had never put thought into even now that she was an adult. Until now, of course. Her mental checklist of friends and family continued, until it reached Vorathos. When Syralin realized that he, too, would be gone from her life, she experienced a momentary twinge of an unfamiliar emotion. She had never fully realized the impact and importance he had in her life. After a moment, she shook herself out of this reverie and back to the task at hand. There would be plenty of time for nostalgia later once she was away from Teldrassil. Slowly, silently, she rose from her hiding place behind the foliage and began to creep towards the building, carefully avoiding the sticks, leaves, and other tree debris scattered about. She doubted that anyone would stop her, but it was best to avoid the risk.

The inn was extremely easy to enter, the result of it lacking a door on any side of it. Elven buildings usually lacked the heavy wooden doors characteristic of human habitation, characteristic of their love of nature. Of course, the doors to the rooms on the second floor would have doors, but only as a matter of privacy. Still, Syralin doubted anyone would see her. It was unlikely that anyone would be wandering about the inn at this hour. Most elves would still be up this early in the day, after all.

As Syralin entered the hallway that held the inn's rooms she stopped and stood quietly, ears perked. She strained to hear any sound from the rooms around her against the backdrop of Teldrassil's early morning, a distinctly difficult task. Eventually, she decided that if anyone was awake, they were simply trying to get to sleep. Satisfied, she continued down the hallway, silently mouthing the room numbers until she finally reached her's, a golden "14" engraved in the door. After stealing one last glance down the hallway, she slipped into the room and gently closed the door. It would do no good to ruin all the effort she put into entering stealthily by slamming the door.

Once inside, she began to gather up all her belongings, stuffing them into her pack as quickly as she could without damaging the items. Her small collection of jewelry was treated with more respect and gently placed into a separate slot to prevent it from being smashed by the other, larger objects such as her blades and whetstone. As she was placing one piece, though, she hesitated. She lifted the item up to the light to get a better look at it. Compared to the rest of her jewelry, it was worthless. It was a simple necklace, woven from Teldrassil's lush green grass, and adorned with bits of hollowed out pine cone. She knew this necklace though, and what it lacked in physical value it made up for tenfold in sentimental value, as it was one of the many small gifts exchanged between her and Vorathos in their childhood.

Memories flashed before her eyes of days spent beneath Teldrassil's canopy, talking and playing with Vorathos. For as long as Syralin could remember, they had been like that, almost as if they were twins. She chuckled as the accuracy of that statement occurred to her. She had probably spent more time with Vorathos than with her actual family, who lived across the strait and in Ashenvale. She smiled and placed the necklace into the jewelry slot before closing the pack and slinging it over her shoulder. _At least_, she thought, _I'll have something to remember Teldrassil by. _

Syranil left the inn as quietly as she came by carefully exiting via the room's window. The fall was not a far one, and the grass below was soft as she landed and rolled to prevent a sprained ankle or other similarly foolish injury. After making sure that no one had seen her jump from the window, she stood and turned to the building and blew a kiss to it in a final farewell to her parents. Then, she turned and ran in the opposite direction, away from Dolanaar and towards the capitol, Darnassus.


End file.
